CHAPTER I.
The year 1647 was that wonderful year in which manifold signs in theheavens and on the earth announced misfortunes of some kind and unusualevents. Contemporary chroniclers relate that beginning with spring-timemyriads of locusts swarmed from the Wilderness, destroying the grainand the grass; this was a forerunner of Tartar raids. In the summerthere was a great eclipse of the sun, and soon after a comet appearedin the sky. In Warsaw a tomb was seen over the city, and a fiery crossin the clouds; fasts were held and alms given, for some men declaredthat a plague would come on the land and destroy the people. Finally,so mild a winter set in, that the oldest inhabitants could not rememberthe like of it. In the southern provinces ice did not confine therivers, which, swollen by the daily melting of snows, left theircourses and flooded the banks. Rainfalls were frequent. The steppe wasdrenched, and became an immense slough. The sun was so warm in thesouth that, wonder of wonders! in Bratslav and the Wilderness a greenfleece covered the steppes and plains in the middle of December. Theswarms in the beehives began to buzz and bustle; cattle were bellowingin the fields. Since such an order of things appeared altogetherunnatural, all men in Russia who were waiting or looking for unusualevents turned their excited minds and eyes especially to theWilderness, from which rather than anywhere else danger might showitself.
At that time there was nothing unusual in the Wilderness,--no strugglesthere, nor encounters, beyond those of ordinary occurrence, and knownonly to the eagles, hawks, ravens, and beasts of the plain. For theWilderness was of this character at that period. The last traces ofsettled life ended on the way to the south, at no great distance beyondChigirin on the side of the Dnieper, and on the side of the Dniesternot far from Uman; then forward to the bays and sea there was nothingbut steppe after steppe, hemmed in by the two rivers as by a frame. Atthe bend of the Dnieper in the lower country beyond the CataractsCossack life was seething, but in the open plains no man dwelt; onlyalong the shores were nestled here and there little fields, likeislands in the sea. The land belonged in name to Poland, but it was anempty land, in which the Commonwealth permitted the Tartars to grazetheir herds; but since the Cossacks prevented this frequently, thefield of pasture was a field of battle too.
How many struggles were fought in that region, how many people had laiddown their lives there, no man had counted, no man remembered. Eagles,falcons, and ravens alone saw these; and whoever from a distance heardthe sound of wings and the call of ravens, whoever beheld the whirl ofbirds circling over one place, knew that corpses or unburied bones werelying beneath. Men were hunted in the grass as wolves or wild goats.All who wished, engaged in this hunt. Fugitives from the law defendedthemselves in the wild steppes. The armed herdsman guarded his flock,the warrior sought adventure, the robber plunder, the Cossack a Tartar,the Tartar a Cossack. It happened that whole bands guarded herds fromtroops of robbers. The steppe was both empty and filled, quiet andterrible, peaceable and full of ambushes; wild by reason of its wildplains, but wild, too, from the wild spirit of men.
At times a great war filled it. Then there flowed over it like wavesTartar chambuls, Cossack regiments, Polish or Wallachian companies. Inthe night-time the neighing of horses answered the howling of wolves,the voices of drums and brazen trumpets flew on to the island of Ovidand the sea, and along the black trail of Kutchman there seemed aninundation of men. The boundaries of the Commonwealth were guarded fromKamenyets to the Dnieper by outposts and stanitsas; and when the roadswere about to swarm with people, it was known especially by thecountless flocks of birds which, frightened by the Tartars, flew onwardto the north. But the Tartar, if he slipped out from the Black Forestor crossed the Dniester from the Wallachian side, came by the southernprovinces together with the birds.
That winter, however, the birds did not come with their uproar to theCommonwealth. It was stiller on the steppe than usual. At the momentwhen our narrative begins the sun was just setting, and its reddishrays threw light on a land entirely empty. On the northern rim of theWilderness, along the Omelnik to its mouth, the sharpest eye could notdiscover a living soul, nor even a movement in the dark, dry, andwithered steppe grass. The sun showed but half its shield from behindthe horizon. The heavens became obscured, and then the steppe grewdarker and darker by degrees. Near the left bank, on a small heightresembling more a grave-mound than a hill, were the mere remnants of awalled stanitsa which once upon a time had been built by FedorBuchatski and then torn down by raids. A long shadow stretched fromthis ruin. In the distance gleamed the waters of the widespreadOmelnik, which in that place turned toward the Dnieper. But the lightswent out each moment in the heavens and on the earth. From the sky wereheard the cries of storks in their flight to the sea; with thisexception the stillness was unbroken by a sound.
Night came down upon the Wilderness, and with it the hour of ghosts.Cossacks on guard in the stanitsas related in those days that theshades of men who had fallen in sudden death and in sin used to rise upat night and carry on dances in which they were hindered neither bycross nor church. Also, when the wicks which showed the time ofmidnight began to burn out, prayers for the dead were offeredthroughout the stanitsas. It was said, too, that the shades of mountedmen coursing through the waste barred the road to wayfarers, whiningand begging them for a sign of the holy cross. Among these ghostsvampires also were met with, who pursued people with howls. A trainedear might distinguish at a distance the howls of a vampire from thoseof a wolf. Whole legions of shadows were also seen, which sometimescame so near the stanitsas that the sentries sounded the alarm. Thiswas generally the harbinger of a great war.
The meeting of a single ghost foreboded no good, either; but it was notalways necessarily of evil omen, for frequently a living man wouldappear before travellers and vanish like a shadow, and therefore mighteasily and often be taken for a ghost.
Night came quickly on the Omelnik, and there was nothing surprising inthe fact that a figure, either a man or a ghost, made its appearance atthe side of the deserted stanitsa. The moon coming out from behind theDnieper whitened the waste, the tops of the thistles, and the distanceof the steppe. Immediately there appeared lower down on the plain someother beings of the night. The flitting clouds hid the light of themoon from moment to moment; consequently those figures flashed up inthe darkness at one instant, and the next they were blurred. At timesthey disappeared altogether, and seemed to melt in the shadow. Pushingon toward the height on which the first man was standing, they stole upquietly, carefully, slowly, halting at intervals.
There was something awe-exciting in their movements, as there was inall that steppe which was so calm in appearance. The wind at times blewfrom the Dnieper, causing a mournful rustle among the dried thistles,which bent and trembled as in fear. At last the figures vanished in theshadow of the ruins. In the uncertain light of that hour nothing couldbe seen save the single horseman on the height.
But the rustle arrested his attention. Approaching the edge of themound, he began to look carefully into the steppe. At that moment thewind stopped, the rustling ceased; there was perfect rest.
Suddenly a piercing whistle was heard; mingled voices began to shout interrible confusion, "Allah! Allah! Jesus Christ! Save! Kill!" Thereport of muskets re-echoed; red flashes rent the darkness. The trampof horses was heard with the clash of steel. Some new horsemen rose asit were from beneath the surface of the steppe. You would have saidthat a storm had sprung up on a sudden in that silent and ominous land.The shrieks of men followed the terrible clash. Then all was silent;the struggle was over.
Apparently one of its usual scenes had been enacted in the Wilderness.
The horsemen gathered in groups on the height; a few of themdismounted, and examined something carefully. Meanwhile a powerful andcommanding voice was heard in the darkness.
"Strike a fire in front!"
In a moment sparks sprang out, and soon a blaze flashed up from the dryreeds and pitch-pine which wayfarers through the Wilderness alwayscarried with the
m.
Straightway the staff for a hanging-lamp was driven into the earth. Theglare from above illuminated sharply a number of men who were bendingover a form stretched motionless on the ground.
These men were soldiers, in red uniforms and wolf-skin caps. Of these,one who sat on a valiant steed appeared to be the leader. Dismounting,he approached the prostrate figure and inquired,--
"Well, Sergeant, is he alive yet, or is it all over with him?"
"He is alive, but there is a rattling in his throat; the lariat stifledhim."
"Who is he?"
"He is not a Tartar; some man of distinction."
"Then God be thanked!"
The chief looked attentively at the prostrate man.
"Well, just like a hetman."
"His horse is of splendid Tartar breed; the Khan has no better," saidthe sergeant. "There he stands."
The lieutenant looked at the horse, and his face brightened. Twosoldiers held a really splendid steed, who, moving his ears anddistending his nostrils, pushed forward his head and looked withfrightened eyes at his master.
"But the horse will be ours, Lieutenant?" put in, with an inquiringtone, the sergeant.
"Dog believer! would you deprive a Christian of his horse in thesteppe?"
"But it is our booty--"
Further conversation was interrupted by stronger breathing from thesuffocated man.
"Pour gorailka into his mouth," said the lieutenant, undoing his belt.
"Are we to spend the night here?"
"Yes. Unsaddle the horses and make a good fire."
The soldiers hurried around quickly. Some began to rouse and rub theprostrate man; some started off for reeds to burn; others spread cameland bear skins on the ground for couches.
The lieutenant, troubling himself no more about the suffocatedstranger, unbound his belt and stretched himself on a burka by thefire. He was a very young man, of spare habit of body, dark complexion,very elegant in manner, with a delicately cut countenance and aprominent aquiline nose. In his eyes were visible desperate daring andendurance, but his face had an honest look. His rather thick mustacheand a beard, evidently unshaven for a long time, gave him a seriousnessbeyond his years.
Meanwhile two attendants were preparing the evening meal. Dressedquarters of mutton were placed on the fire, a number of bustards andpartridges were taken from the packs, and one wild goat, which anattendant began to skin without delay. The fire blazed up, casting outupon the steppe an enormous ruddy circle of light. The suffocated manbegan to revive slowly.
After a time he cast his bloodshot eyes around on the strangers,examining their faces; then he tried to stand up. The soldier who hadpreviously talked with the lieutenant raised him by the armpits;another put in his hand a halbert, upon which the stranger leaned withall his force. His face was still purple, his veins swollen. At last,with a suppressed voice, he coughed out his first word, "Water!"
They gave him gorailka, which he drank repeatedly, and which appearedto do him good, for after he had removed the flask from his lips atlast, he inquired in a clear voice, "In whose hands am I?"
The officer rose and approached him. "In the hands of those who savedyou."
"It was not you, then, who caught me with a lariat?"
"No; the sabre is our weapon, not the lariat. You wrong our goodsoldiers with the suspicion. You were seized by ruffians, pretendedTartars. You can look at them if you are curious, for they are lyingout there slaughtered like sheep."
Saying this, he pointed with his hand to a number of dark bodies lyingbelow the height.
To this the stranger answered, "If you will permit me to rest."
They brought him a felt-covered saddle, on which he seated himself insilence.
He was in the prime of life, of medium height, with broad shoulders,almost gigantic build of body, and striking features. He had anenormous head, a complexion dried and sunburnt, black eyes, somewhataslant, like those of a Tartar; over his thin lips hung a mustacheending at the tips in two broad bunches. His powerful face indicatedcourage and pride. There was in it something at once attractive andrepulsive,--the dignity of a hetman with Tartar cunning, kindness, andferocity.
After he had sat awhile on the saddle he rose, and beyond allexpectation, went to look at the bodies instead of returning thanks.
"How churlish!" muttered the lieutenant.
The stranger examined each face carefully, nodding his head like a manwho has seen through everything; then he turned slowly to thelieutenant, slapping himself on the side, and seeking involuntarily hisbelt, behind which he wished evidently to pass his hand.
This importance in a man just rescued from the halter did not pleasethe young lieutenant, and he said in irony,--
"One might say that you are looking for acquaintances among thoserobbers, or that you are saying a litany for their souls."
"You are both right and wrong. You are right, for I was looking foracquaintances; and you are wrong, for they are not robbers, butservants of a petty nobleman, my neighbor."
"Then it is clear that you do not drink out of the same spring withthat neighbor."
A strange smile passed over the thin lips of the stranger.
"And in that you are wrong," muttered he through his teeth. In a momenthe added audibly: "But pardon for not having first given thanks for theaid and effective succor which freed me from such sudden death. Yourcourage has redeemed my carelessness, for I separated from my men; butmy gratitude is equal to your good-will."
Having said this, he reached his hand to the lieutenant.
But the haughty young man did not stir from his place, and was in nohurry to give his hand; instead of that he said,--
"I should like to know first if I have to do with a nobleman; forthough I have no doubt you are one, still it does not befit me toaccept the thanks of a nameless person."
"I see you have the mettle of a knight, and speak justly, I should havebegun my speech and thanks with my name. I am Zenovi Abdank; myescutcheon that of Abdank with a cross; a nobleman from the province ofKieff; a landholder, and a colonel of the Cossack regiment of PrinceDominik Zaslavski."
"And I am Yan Skshetuski, lieutenant of the armored regiment of PrinceYeremi Vishnyevetski."
"You serve under a famous warrior. Accept my thanks and hand."
The lieutenant hesitated no longer. It is true that armored officerslooked down on men of the other regiments; but Pan Yan was in thesteppe, in the Wilderness, where such things were less remembered.Besides, he had to do with a colonel. Of this he had ocular proof, forwhen his soldiers brought Pan Abdank the belt and sabre which weretaken from his person in order to revive him, they brought at the sametime a short staff with a bone shaft and ivory head, such as Cossackcolonels were in the habit of using. Besides, the dress of ZenoviAbdank was rich, and his educated speech indicated a quick mind andsocial training.
Pan Yan therefore invited him to supper. The odor of roasted meatsbegan to go out from the fire just then, tickling the nostrils and thepalate. The attendant brought the meats, and served them on a plate.The two men fell to eating; and when a good-sized goat-skin ofMoldavian wine was brought, a lively conversation sprang up withoutdelay.
"A safe return home to us," said Pan Yan.
"Then you are returning home? Whence, may I ask?" inquired Abdank.
"From a long journey,--from the Crimea."
"What were you doing there? Did you go with ransom?"
"No, Colonel, I went to the Khan himself."
Abdank turned an inquisitive ear. "Did you, indeed? Were you wellreceived? And what was your errand to the Khan?"
"I carried a letter from Prince Yeremi."
"You were an envoy, then! What did the prince write to the Khan about?"
The lieutenant looked quickly at his companion.
"Well, Colonel," said he, "you have looked into the eyes of ruffianswho captured you with a lariat; that is your affair. But what theprince wrote to the Khan is neither your affair nor mine, but theirs." br />
"I wondered, a little while ago," answered Abdank, cunningly, "that hishighness the prince should send such a young man to the Khan; but afteryour answer I am not astonished, for I see that you are young in years,but mature in experience and wit."
The lieutenant swallowed the smooth, flattering words, merely twistedhis young mustache, and inquired,--
"Now do you tell me what you are doing on the Omelnik, and how you cometo be here alone."
"I am not alone, I left my men on the road; and I am going to Kudak, toPan Grodzitski, who is transferred to the command there, and to whomthe Grand Hetman has sent me with letters."
"And why don't you go by water?"
"I am following an order from which I may not depart."
"Strange that the hetman issued such an order, when in the steppe youhave fallen into straits which you would have avoided surely had youbeen going by water."
"Oh, the steppes are quiet at present; my acquaintance with them doesnot begin with to-day. What has met me is the malice and hatred ofman."
"And who attacked you in this fashion?"
"It is a long story. An evil neighbor, Lieutenant, who has destroyed myproperty, is driving me from my land, has killed my son, and besides,as you have seen, has made an attempt on my life where we sit."
"But do you not carry a sabre at your side?"
On the powerful face of Abdank there was a gleam of hatred, in his eyesa sullen glare. He answered slowly and with emphasis,--
"I do; and as God is my aid, I shall seek no other weapon against myfoes."
The lieutenant wished to say something, when suddenly the tramp ofhorses was heard in the steppe, or rather the hurried slapping ofhorses' feet on the softened grass. That moment, also, the lieutenant'sorderly who was on guard hurried up with news that men of some kindwere approaching.
"Those," said Abdank, "are surely my men, whom I left beyond theTasmina. Not suspecting perfidy, I promised to wait for them here."
Soon a crowd of mounted men formed a half-circle in front of theheight. By the glitter of the fire appeared heads of horses, with opennostrils, puffing from exertion; and above them the faces of riders,who, bending forward, sheltered their eyes from the glare of the fireand gazed eagerly toward the light.
"Hei! men, who are you?" inquired Abdank.
"Servants of God," answered voices from the darkness.
"Just as I thought,--my men," repeated Abdank, turning to thelieutenant. "Come this way."
Some of them dismounted and drew near the fire.
"Oh, how we hurried, batko! But what's the matter?"
"There was an ambush. Hvedko, the traitor, learned of my coming to thisplace, and lurked here with others. He must have arrived some time inadvance. They caught me with a lariat."
"God save us! What Poles are these about you?"
Saying this, they looked threateningly on Pan Skshetuski and hiscompanions.
"These are kind friends," said Abdank. "Glory be to God! I am alive andwell. We will push on our way at once."
"Glory be to God for that! We are ready."
The newly arrived began to warm their hands over the fire, for thenight was cool, though fine. There were about forty of them, sturdy menand well armed. They did not look at all like registered Cossacks,which astonished Pan Skshetuski not a little, especially since theirnumber was so considerable. Everything seemed very suspicious. If theGrand Hetman had sent Abdank to Kudak, he would have given him a guardof registered Cossacks; and in the second place, why should he orderhim to go by the steppe from Chigirin, and not by water? The necessityof crossing all the rivers flowing through the Wilderness to theDnieper could only delay the journey. It appeared rather as if Abdankwanted to avoid Kudak.
In like manner, the personality of Abdank astonished the younglieutenant greatly. He noticed at once that the Cossacks, who wererather free in intercourse with their colonels, met him with unusualrespect, as if he were a real hetman. He must be a man of a heavy hand,and what was most wonderful to Skshetuski, who knew the Ukraine on bothsides of the Dnieper, he had heard nothing of a famous Abdank. Besides,there was in the countenance of the man something peculiar,--a certainsecret power which breathed from his face like heat from a flame, acertain unbending will, declaring that this man withdraws before no manand no thing. The same kind of will was in the face of Prince YeremiVishnyevetski; but that which in the prince was an inborn gift ofnature special to his lofty birth and his position might astonish onewhen found in a man of unknown name wandering in the wild steppe.
Pan Skshetuski[1] deliberated long. It occurred to him that this mightbe some powerful outlaw who, hunted by justice, had taken refuge in theWilderness,--or the leader of a robber band; but the latter was notprobable. The dress and speech of the man showed something else. Thelieutenant was quite at a loss what course to take. He kept simply onhis guard. Meanwhile Abdank ordered his horse.
"Lieutenant, 'tis time for him to go who has the road before him. Letme thank you again for your succor. God grant me to show you a serviceof equal value!"
"I do not know whom I have saved, therefore I deserve no thanks."
"Your modesty, which equals your courage, is speaking now. Accept fromme this ring."
The lieutenant frowned and took a step backward, measuring with hiseyes Abdank, who then spoke on with almost paternal dignity in hisvoice and posture,--
"But look, I offer you not the wealth of this ring, but its othervirtues. When still in the years of youth, a captive among infidels, Igot this from a pilgrim returning from the Holy Land. In the seal of itis dust from the grave of Christ. Such a gift might not be refused,even if it came from condemned hands. You are still a young man and asoldier; and since even old age, which is near the grave, knows notwhat may strike it before the last hour, youth, which has before it along life, must meet with many an adventure. This ring will preserveyou from misfortune, and protect you when the day of judgment comes;and I tell you that that day is even now on the road through theWilderness."
A moment of silence followed; nothing was heard but the crackling ofthe fire and the snorting of the horses. From the distant reeds camethe dismal howling of wolves. Suddenly Abdank repeated still again, asif to himself,--
"The day of judgment is already on the road through the Wilderness, andwhen it comes all God's world will be amazed."
The lieutenant took the ring mechanically, so much was he astonished atthe words of this strange man. But the man was looking into the darkdistance of the steppe. Then he turned slowly and mounted his horse.His Cossacks were waiting at the foot of the height.
"Forward! forward! Good health to you, my soldier friend!" said he tothe lieutenant. "The times are such at present that brother trusts notbrother. This is why you know not whom you have saved, for I have notgiven you my name."
"You are not Abdank, then?"
"That is my escutcheon."
"And your name?"
"Bogdan Zenovi Hmelnitski."
When he had said this, he rode down from the height, and his Cossacksmoved after him. Soon they were hidden in the mist and the night. Whenthey had gone about half a furlong, the wind bore back from them thewords of the Cossack song,--
"O God, lead us forth, poor captives, From heavy bonds, From infidel faith, To the bright dawn, To quiet waters, To a gladsome land, To a Christian world. Hear, O God, our prayers,-- The prayers of the hapless, The prayers of poor captives."
The voices grew fainter by degrees, and then were melted in the windsounding through the reeds.